


Autumn Heart

by servantofclio



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd always had a strange sense for the woods, and now her heart is telling her there's something wrong there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quasar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/gifts).



Arana’s morning prayers were much the same as always. She asked the Daughter’s blessings for herself, dutifully, as was proper for a lady of her age, just turned twenty. She begged the Mother’s blessings for her stepmother, great with child, and with the youngest of her three half-siblings only just walking. The Mother’s blessings had perhaps been a trifle too abundant on her stepmother already; Arana bore the lady no ill will, for she had always been kind to her, but the young ones took a deal of minding, even with their own nurse. It would be a relief when they were old enough to be useful, or at least sit at lessons. She begged the Father’s protection for her own father, called away on the Roya and Royina’s latest campaign against the Roknari, and the Son’s for her elder brother, likewise away at war. From the Son, too, good fortune at the hunt, in this His season. From the Bastard she asked only that he spare them his attention. There was more than enough disorder in the house already, with Father away, her stepmother all but confined to bed by the Mother’s acolyte, and of course the younger siblings with all their tumult. Ill luck enough for her father and brother both to have to go, but it was their duty to supply men for their Royina, and there had been none else to fight in their place, since theirs was a small holding. With her stepmother abed, and none else to take up her father’s duties as castle warder—even for so minor a castle as theirs—most of the responsibility fell on Arana’s shoulders.

 

She sighed and signed the Five, brow, lips, naval, groin, and heart, spreading her hand over her heart with a last, silent prayer. She longed for good hunting, and, more than that, she longed for the ability to endure, to hold up her burdens as long as she must. A few more weeks, and by the Mother’s grace, her stepmother would be safely brought to bed; by Father’s Day, surely, her father and brother might be home again, or... or at least they’d have word, here in the deepest south of Chalion, far from the fighting.

 

As she stood, her dog Scout rose from where he had been quietly lying and fell in at her heel without even a signal from her. She reached out and scratched his ears, taking a moment’s comfort from the feel of his rough russet fur under her fingers. She had raised him herself from a puppy, the brightest and most curious of the litter that her father’s favorite hunting dog had borne. It had been some consolation after her mother’s death, now nearly seven years past; more than once he had licked tears from her cheeks as she struggled through those first months of grief. A gift from her father, to have her own dog; but a gift from the gods, too, to have one clever and swift enough to follow her everywhere, swift to hunt, quiet behind her chair at meals or, as now, awaiting her at the door of the chapel. Disrespectful, her stepmother sometimes said, but each god had their sacred animals, she had argued, and the Son of Autumn, at least, would not care. Her stepmother had sniffed, but she and Father both permitted him to follow if he behaved, and he had been good as gold.

 

Outside the quiet calm of the chapel, the bustle of the household quickly intruded. The steward wanted to consult with her on the apple harvest and how much to set aside for the cider pressing, as well as go over all the stores, again. There’d been a scuffle among the kitchen servants the night before, which required some discipline. Worse yet, the children’s nurse thought Arana’s eldest half-sister might be catching a fever. She sighed at the stream of requests. “Would it not be best to speak to their mother, rather than me?” she asked, trying to hide her twinge of resentment. She’d never been good at this sort of management, all the sheer work of running even a small household like theirs.

 

The steward blinked. “She has been so poorly, though, I do not wish to worry her unduly.”

 

Arana sighed, wishing their steward were a little quicker-witted. “She is still their mother, and she would not thank me for keeping any illness from her. As for the apples—” she rubbed her forehead. “What did we do last year? Can we not do the same?” Last year, to tell the truth, she had been hardly paying attention to what portion of the apple harvest was devoted to storage and what to cider, but they had had plenty of both since, had they not?

 

The steward nodded. “As you wish, then.”

 

“And if the Mother’s acolyte comes, send her to look in at the children, too? And set one of the servants to look after my sister, to keep her apart from the others. Make it that quarreling cook,” she said, in a flash of inspiration. “Whoever started the argument.”

 

The steward nodded again, his mouth pulling into a smile. “A fine idea. I shall arrange things as you order.”

 

“Good,” said Arana, and made her way out to the kennels, glad to make her escape.

 

The courtyard was half-full of barrels of apples brought in from the orchards, filling the air with their fresh scent. Several men were hauling in more, while others argued with each other about how best to set up the cider press. Arana weaved her way through, successfully avoided colliding with anyone, or being waylaid by someone with yet another problem and found her father’s chief huntsman by the kennels.

 

“Eh. Lady Arana.” He took a bite out of a fresh apple, chewed and swallowed. “Thought you might be out.”

 

“How are the stores?” she asked. This was the matter that worried her most, and there was no one, really, to see to it.

 

“Low,” he said. “Plenty of apples, and grain’s coming in, but the hunting’s been poor, this season. I send the men out every day, but,” he shrugged. “They’re not finding enough game.”

 

She let out a slow breath. There was no reason for it that she could see. The weather was fine, the summer had been abundant in both sun and rain. “The men have seen nothing unusual?”

 

“They’ve hardly seen anything at all.”

 

She frowned. “I shall go myself.”

 

He cast a scrutinizing eye over her, but he was the one who had taught her to pull a bow when she was but a child. They both knew she had greater skill of archery and woodscraft than any of the men of the castle, her own brother included. They both knew, too, that she had a knack, a sense of the woods that no one else did.

 

He still said, in a guarded tone, “Alone?”

 

“I shall move faster, and more quietly.”

 

He snorted and shook his head. “Your father would have my hide.”

 

“He isn’t here, or he could see to it himself.” Though, even were he here, she would have devoted all her means of persuasion to her own cause.

 

“Take Scout.” The dog’s ears pricked up as he heard his name.

 

She smiled. “When do I not?”

 

He chuckled. “True enough.”

 

It was the work of mere moments to shuck the respectable skirt she had donned, leaving her in more practical leathers for hunting. She gathered her bow and quiver and a few other supplies and set out, Scout following quietly at her heel.

 

Of all the seasons of the year, autumn was her favorite, and there was nothing like the woods in autumn. She stepped carefully, nearly silent as she made her way along paths and half-hidden trails she knew like her own heartbeat. Half the leaves had fallen from the trees already, a shower of golden leaves, edges crisp and turning brown. Had she not been intent on the hunt, she might have kicked her way through them like a child, to hear the crunch and rustle beneath her boots. As it was, she trod on packed earth and roots wherever she might. The sunlight filtering through the branches and remaining leaves warmed her face and cast a dappled shadow on the ground. A tightness in her chest eased as she moved and breathed in the crisp cool air, a tightness she had not even realized was there in the confining space of castle, courtyard, and responsibility.

 

For half an hour she saw no creature but Scout, ranging now ahead, now at her side, and the occasional songbird, flitting across the path. She saw deer sign along the path, but the track was worn and the sign days old. The woods were so quiet that she started when at last a squirrel darted overhead, leaping from one branch to another and up the tree in a clatter of slender limbs. Arana shook her head and renewed her concentration, breathing a half-formed prayer. She was not here merely to enjoy a morning’s outing in the wild; there was work to be done here in the woods, a problem that it was her duty to investigate. With each breath, she settled herself, closing her eyes so that she could take in her sense of the forest. She could never quite explain how she did what she did; her father had always thought it a young girl’s fancy, though he indulged her, and the huntsman had learned to take advantage of her woodsense when he could. All she knew was that if she focused, cleared her mind, and... and opened her heart to the land around her, she acquired a sense of the health of the woods and the creatures within them.

 

And there _was_ something wrong, she could tell, a shadow of fear that curled through the space like a rivulet of a flooding stream, new-formed by rushing waters. Fewer animals in her vicinity than there should be, and those there were mostly gone to ground, shy and wary of _something_ , but she knew not what. Not herself, as best she could tell. She opened her eyes again and moved, slow and careful, keeping the sense of the forest in her head. There—just there—

 

She had drawn, the point of her arrow tracking the rabbit before it even broke from the underbrush, and her shot caught it cleanly in the neck. Scout pounced upon it and brought it to her, carrying it almost delicately in his teeth, and she took it from him with a pat and murmured thanks. She gave thanks, again, to the Son, lord of the season and of the hunt, for it was a fine rabbit, large and full-fleshed. Little enough, but a welcome addition to the evening meal, all the same. She put it in her bag and moved on.

 

It was only a short time later that her luck turned, or the Son blessed her in truth. She sighted, through the trees, a flash of tan hide. She had an arrow on the string swiftly, making nearly no noise at all as she slipped through the trees to get a clear shot. The deer was moving, but idly, as yet unaware of her presence. There was very little breeze to carry her scent to the animal, a mark in her favor, so she closed in, quiet and focused. The doe threw her head up, just starting to take alarm; but she fired on the instant.  Arana heard, almost felt, the impact of the arrow into the deer’s flesh, and the creature, just taking flight, disappeared into the brush with a series of crashing sounds.

 

Arana sighed and set off after it, Scout trotting ahead of her. She preferred a clean kill, and hoped the wounded deer would not travel far, wasting its strength and stirring the woods with its distress. She had a sense of it ahead of her, its pain curving a path through her understanding of the woods.

 

She found the deer before long, though, fallen already. She took a moment’s satisfaction at her success and murmured another prayer of thanksgiving. The animal appeared healthy enough: the coat in good condition, and no signs of sickness that she could see.

 

She could not carry the deer with her as she went, so she took her rope out of her bag to truss it up and hoist it over the nearest tree branch, marking its location in her mind for her return trip, or to send the huntsmen out after it once she returned.

 

She had just finished that chore when a sudden growl from Scout caught her attention. She turned her head, to find the dog rigid and bristling near her, and followed its gaze into the underbrush. She did not at once see what had set Scout to alert, until her eyes caught a flash of motion, of russet fur, and a fox poked its head out of the brush.

 

Arana stayed still, puzzled at the fox’s boldness. Its ears were up, alert, its whiskers twitching; it didn’t appear ill, but it was utterly unperturbed by her presence or the dog’s. It looked first at Scout and then at her, and her breath caught. There _was_ something odd: a spark of something in the fox’s dark eyes that seemed altogether uncanny. A glint of violet, as the light caught its eyes; then it turned its head again, and the spark was gone, or at least she could not see it any longer. She reached for her bow, slow and careful, but the fox took notice and bounded off, and Scout followed with a sharp bark.

 

She heaved an exasperated breath. Scout was sound and steady most of the time—but foxes were his weakness. He could never seem to restrain himself from going after that. She returned her bow to her back and set off, calling him back. She heard another bark in the distance, and the rustling of two animals crashing through the leaves and branches, but that was all.

 

The pair were not hard to track. She found one paw print, in soft earth, and a trail of small branches left bent or broken where they had passed. She heard a couple more barks, as well, which helped her find her direction.

 

Then she heard a sharp whine, almost a wail.

 

Arana went on for a short distance before stopping. She heard no more from dog or fox, and there was no sign obvious to her eye indicating which way they had gone. She hesitated, then called again.

 

There was no answering bark this time, nothing at all. Nerves stretched tight, she took a breath to settle herself and tried to... extend her senses again. It was more difficult this time; her fear made her chest feel tight and seemed to cloud her sense of the woods around her. She swung her arms, to loosen her chest and shoulders, and took another deep breath. “Give me strength,” she whispered. “If it be thy will, let me see what I need.”

 

_That way_. She knew there was no voice for her to hear, but she felt a certainty as strong as if she had a clear view of open fields. She moved, her steps sure.

 

It did not take her long to find them, in the shadow of an oak. The fox lay limp, a gash of bright blood across the fur of its chest. But Scout lay beside, head turning about in an odd aimless movement. He whimpered when he saw her.

 

Arana called, and Scout staggered to his feet, took one step toward her, and then crouched again, his tongue briefly swiping over his nose. She frowned in concern and drew near, dropping down to take a closer look. “What is it, boy?” she asked, patting his sides for any signs of hidden injuries.

 

His head twisted toward, teeth bearing in a silent snarl that made her freeze, shocked. Scout had _never_ looked at her so, not even when he was an ill-trained puppy. That was the look he saved to warn away strangers, the one that would be followed by a bite if the stranger did not back away.

 

He did not bite her, though. Rather he whined again and shook his head, as if trying to shake off a fly, and then looked up at her, panting.

 

Her breath caught. There was an unaccustomed spark of violet deep in Scout’s brown eyes, something that she had never seen before. Something wrong, something that ought not to be there. She hesitated for a moment, but Scout no longer seemed as though he might attack her, so she renewed her examination of his body, this time more cautiously.

 

She could find nothing, though, no injury that might leave him in this curious state, not even a scratch. He had killed the fox, that was clear enough; could some illness have passed from one to the other? And so quickly?

 

Scout suffered her exploration without complaint, but he panted as if struggling in effort, and his eyes seemed unfocused. “Come, boy,” she said softly, rising to her feet and taking a step back.

 

It took a moment before he complied, with more effort than it should have taken. Scout shook himself and followed after her, but his posture was stiff and peculiar. He still appeared half-dazed, his eyes moving around almost aimlessly. He followed as she moved, watching him carefully, but everything about his motions screamed that something was wrong.

 

Arana had no idea what to do. Her sense of _wrongness_ seemed to spread, filling her heart until she could hardly be sure of her usual senses. It was as if the whole woods were tainted, and though the sun still shone, the air seemed to have grown colder around her. She ought to return home, surely. Or... should she? If Scout had taken ill, should she not keep him separate from the rest of the dogs? She glanced toward him, worrying at her lower lip, and stiffened when she caught another glimpse of that violet glint deep in his dark eyes. A breeze blew up, rattling leaves and stirring branches all around her, the chill on her skin making her shiver.

 

Home, she decided. They could isolate him there, and see what might be done. She could not stop the cold feeling in her heart, though, the sense that whatever was wrong was no simple malady, nothing that their usual remedies might cure, and she might lose her dearest companion. Her breath came short, and she had to blink back tears.

 

In spite of this feeling, she took the fastest route toward home, taking the path that led through the less dense trees at the edge of the wood. A noise above her made her look up; it was only a squirrel, poised on a branch, but its beady eyes, too, glimmered with something not quite right. At her side, Scout growled. Arana dropped her hand to his neck. He tensed in response, whimpering. She shook her head and made to move on, when the squirrel suddenly fled. At the same time, she heard a noise, coming up from somewhere behind her: the sound of hooves and the jingling of tack, moving along the the road that ran along the outskirts of the woods. _Horses_. And voices, human and normal, but shocking for being unexpected in the quiet, uneasy day.

 

“... a plague of elementals in these parts, but they must be coming from somewhere.”

 

Arana turned and started toward the road to see who it was. She couldn’t place the voice; were these strangers passing through her lands? She had the barest thought that strangers might pose a threat for a young woman alone, but she moved nonetheless. If any trouble came, she knew these woods far better than any other, and could easily lose them.

 

She gasped when she saw them, though. Strangers indeed—and armed—but she hardly noticed how many there were, or noted faces, because the woman in their midst _blazed_ , all in white and somehow glowing white, and it was all Arana could do not to drop to her knees as she broke through the edge of the woods. She stiffened in place, and the polite greeting she’d been preparing died on her lips. Scout, still clinging to her side, let out a low, threatening growl that turned into a whine as the oncoming strangers turned toward them.

 

One of the men called out a friendly greeting, but Arana could hardly reply, her eyes fixed on the blazing woman. The latter regarded her with curiosity as she drew near. 

“You see me,” she said, with an air of surprise. The man riding next to her looked at Arana with some surprise, as well.

 

“I see...” Arana wet her lips and tried to focus around the strange brightness. “I’m... not sure what I see, s- Sera?”

 

One of the men drew breath, but the woman waved him off. “Sera will do. And you—” She cocked her head, and Arana had the sense that the woman could see _through_ her. “Interesting. Curious.”

 

“Curious?” Arana asked, a surge of irritation freeing her tongue.

 

The woman smiled. “It’s rare to see the hand of the Son on a young woman. But I, of all people, am in no position to judge. What brings you out to the woods this day?”

 

Arana looked at the party warily—well-dressed and well-armed they all were, no mean party of travelers. Still with the sense of things moving far beyond her ken, she found herself telling the whole tale. The curious lack of hunting; her travel into the woods; their encounter with the fox, and Scout’s strange behavior since. She even, against her better judgment, described her sense of the woods. Haltingly, for it was not a thing she could easily put into words, but she did her best, finishing, “There’s... something isn’t right.”

 

She glanced at the older woman, anxious, but there was no sense of judgment in those eyes. Rather, Arana couldn’t help the conviction that this woman had seen and known things far stranger. She looked away, cheeks flushing.

 

“Mm,” the woman said, drawing her attention back. “You’re correct about that. I believe what is wrong is my affair to deal with, not yours. And as for you—” she extended a hand toward Scout. From her mount, she was too high to touch him, but Scout’s nose stretched toward her, quivering, yet somehow also fearful. Arana watched in puzzlement and started when it seemed as though _something_ passed from one to the other, something that left a faint trail in the air—or perhaps she only imagined it—for then it was gone. Scout barked—a friendly enough bark, to her surprise. When Arana looked at him more closely, she found that the strange tension had gone out of him entirely. His eyes appeared quite normal, with no disturbing depths. He was too well trained to lean into her side, but his head nudged against her hand.

 

“What—” she asked, not sure how to frame the question.

 

“A demon,” the woman replied matter-of-factly, taking up her reins.

 

“A _demon_?” She reached toward Scout and stopped herself with an act of will.

 

“It’s quite gone now,” the woman said, seeing her gesture. “It jumped from the fox to your dog when the fox died. Only a small elemental, but there are more in these parts than there should be. My affair, as I told you. It might be best for you to return home.”

 

“I—” Arana gathered up her manners. “My father is away, but you are welcome to guest with us.” It was both the simplest good manners and her obligation to offer hospitality. They ought to be able to put up the party without stretching their own stores too badly,  or at least so she hoped.

 

“That would be appreciated,” the woman said, nodding to one of her men.

 

Arana swallowed and gathered her courage. “And if you have need of a guide for the woods, I... no one knows them as well as I do.”

 

The woman smiled. Arana’s heart lifted at the approval, even as she wondered, with mixed anticipation and alarm, what she might be getting into.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my very favorite books, and my first time writing in this fandom! It was a fun challenge, and I hope you enjoy the story.


End file.
